Merry Christmas, LawlClan
by For Our Duckies
Summary: This is quite a boring story; you should read something else. Here we just study (trans-1,4-bis[(4-pyridyl)ethenyl]benzene)(2,2'-bipyridine)ruthenium(II) and its effect on Ferncloud's kit production.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: This story is by LawlClanners, for LawlClanners, about LawlClanners. We're very self-centered, you know. If a reader isn't from LawlClan, said reader will not get the jokes. And since this is a parody story, that's sort of the point of it. We suggest that all readers not from LawlClan go read something else instead. And maybe leave a review on that story as a Christmas present. But that, of course, is not a requirement and this is America—er, FanFiction and a reader can do what he or she wants to. **

**And if a reader is from LawlClan, a reader should not take things personally because it's [nearly] Christmas, so take a joke. **

**Also, a reader should know that if he or she wants to carry on to the story now, he or she should do so.**

* * *

The fire crackled and flickered behind its grate. A cedar tree stood regally, dressed in necklace after necklace of rainbow lights, adorned in dozens of ornament earrings, and wrapped in a few tinsel sashes. Presents wrapped in gold, silver, and scarlet paper patiently waited beneath it. Nestled among the mountain of gifts were a few housecats—Oh, crap, I'm sorry! I should have said that like "The fire crackled and flickered enclosed in its cage. A tree stood in the Twoleg den, shining with colorful bits of light and golden vines. Oddly colored and strangely shaped rocks rested beneath its branches. A few cats laid a tail-length away from the rocks." I suppose it's just too late to fix it. And with a start this terrible it'll just get worse from here. Please don't go on, for the love of Chuck and StarClan or whatever fandom deity you might worship and all that's holy in this world don't! Please?

Well, I suppose I should go on about those cats. It's about time that I went on about those cats. Yes, those cats would be a lovely thing to go on about. I rather like cats, personally. I like the ones with bells on their collars. The little dinging noise gives me this warm, fuzzy feeling in my tummy. Of course, the warm, fuzzy feeling goes away quickly because then I realize the cat is only wearing the bell because it's a warning siren for forest animals, telling them that a mass murderer is on the loose. Maybe I don't like cats so much anyway. I mean I'm a big fan of furry animals, but I'm not such a big fan of mass murderers. Perhaps I'm more of a dog person after all. Yes, I rather think I'm a dog person. Now that that dilemma is solved, I should get back to writing.

Where was I again? Oh, yes! Cats. The felines were nestled among the gifts. There were three kittens, but I won't talk about them very much because everyone knows that kittens are quite boring unless they're eating poisonous berries, escaping from their mothers, being snatched up by birds, or being gobbled by badgers. There was also a father cat, though he was also a grandfather cat; he was the sort of pimpin' grandfather cat who could have grandchildren that were older than some of his children. He was soft, with a fat tummy and well-groomed ginger fur streaked with gray. His forehead gleamed with golden paint. His mate insisted upon painting this star on his forehead everyday for he was the mighty Firestar. What was Firestar doing in some random house? Well, every great leader deserves to retire on a nice, fat pension.

And Firestar was no exception. Whoever started the rumor that he actually died as leader of ThunderClan, anyway? Well, I suppose it doesn't matter as _he most certainly did not!_

The other cat was a cat who used to be a Twoleg and fell in love with Firestar in the most exciting, deep, original romance _ever_! She's rather important and beautiful. Tabby fur, golden in color, with stripes lighter than that of her base coat—so rare, so gorgeous. And her personality! Oh her personality! No one had ever met a cat such as her: generous, humorous, playful, just perfect. I suppose that I have to stop writing about this beautiful, amazing creature, lest I damage her reputation by having her name appear in such a low-quality story such as this one.

Firestar flicked one of the kitten's—sorry, _kit's_ I mean—nose with the tip of his tail.

She purred, then licked her lips. Suddenly, she mewed "What's Christmas, Daddy?"

"Well . . . " the ginger tom faltered. "Well, Brightkit, I'm not actually sure about that. But I have been watching some videos on the telly lately—"

"Firestar!" his mate—whose reputation I will not damage by talking about anymore—yowled. "You're the mighty leader of ThunderClan. Why are you watching television like some kittypet? You're a warrior!"

"Not anymore, rabbit-breath."

"Oh, I just love it when you call me that; it's so romantic—you should still act like a warrior. You're the mighty Firestar after all!"

The old cat turned his head from his mate and gave his attention back to his kits, who were quite boring and useless and didn't deserve his attention at all.

"Anyway, on the telly, they tell you what Christmas is about, so I suppose I could tell you some stories if you're actually interested."

The little balls of fur started bouncing up and down in excitement as little balls of fur often do. I've decided that kits are so unimportant that they will now be officially be referred to as _little balls of fur_. Well, I suppose it's time that I head off to write a letter to the maker of a dictionary now, so please don't mind if I wrap this up in a few more paragraphs.

"Of course we want to hear stories, Daddy," Yellowkit whined.

"Yes, _please_, Daddy," Brightkit moaned.

"Please, please, please!" the third little ball of fur—who was so completely unimportant that I forgot his name—mewed.

Firestar, being a very nice father and also knowing that I really have to end this as my letter to a dictionary-maker is very, very important, decided to simply meow "Yes. I'll tell you a few stories."

He coughed once, then twice. Then, his cough turned into him trying to upchuck a lung. His mate and his children cringed at the familiar sound of a hairball. But it was not a hairball that caused Firestar to make such a noise; it was something far more sinister. . . .

It . . .

It was . . .

It was _LawlClan_.

Or rather, just a few upstanding members of LawlClan—if any members of LawlClan could be considered upstanding.

He raised his head, stood up straight and opened his eyes to reveal a rainbow of colors in place of his emerald ones.

"No." They spoke as one: a booming bass, a hoarse, throaty voice, a singsong melody, a husky tone all pouring from Firestar's mouth. "_We_ will tell you stories."


	2. Chapter 2

The cats seemed to gently fight for control of Firestar's body and voice. After a moment, a pair of voices stood victorious. The first was the strong, seemingly dominant voice of a leader. Firestar's eyes seemed to shift colors yet again. They changed colors multiple times during the period of the cats 'fighting' for control, but they finally settled. His right eye became a light shade of amber; his left a bright yellow.

"My name is Spiderstar, young kits, and I am the leader of LawlClan." The kits seemed to look forth in awe, still slightly unsure of what was happening to Firestar. They seemed to be scared, actually, yet captivated at the same time. Firestar's voice shifted again, this time becoming more gentle, yet impatient.

"I am Wolfblaze, senior warrior of LawlClan. Spiderstar and I have come to shares a story of one cat . . . and her quest for sum Christmas luvin'! Oof—damn it, Spidey."

"Anyways, dear little balls of fur—I mean 'kits,' we have a story to tell you. Don't fear us. We mean your 'grand' leader no harm. Well, Wolfblaze might, considering he means everybody harm, but I promise that nothing will happen to Firestar."

Wolfblaze's soothing voice returned. "Now that my tummy is no longer upside-down as a result of our wonderful Spiderstar, I think it's time to get on with the story, right?"

"You want to know what Christmas is? Let us tell you what it's all about.

"Stormtail. She was a member of the mighty LawlClan. A Clan much mightier than ThunderClan. Much more handsome and dashing too—collectively, I mean. _Our Clan_." The two voices were again mewing in synch which produced an incredibly unsettling effect. An effect so unsettling that we, the writers, have to go sacrifice our lunches to the porcelain altar. If the readers would please wait on the line, we will be back momentarily.

Oh, hello, there.

Firestar—well the thing that might have been Spiderstar and Wolfblaze at the moment—I'm not even sure, growled impatiently.

"_Anyway_! Stormtail wanted some lovin' on Christmas. And being an American—LawlClannian, she got what she wanted. It helped of course, that she was very, very famous and very, very rich. You shouldn't count on getting anything for Christmas unless you're really famous and really rich. Santa won't pay what he owe, unless you can send the mafia after him.

"You kits don't know what the mafia is yet, right?"

The little balls of fur had never met a creature that talked quite as quickly as their possessed father. The leaderly voice had changed, but not changed in the way that it had 'become' someone else; it changed in the way that Spiderstar talked quickly, ran her words together and made the story quite hard to follow along. The stared blankly at her, eyed their mother (who had fainted), and were altogether quite freaked out.

"Anyway, Stormtail was an aunt. Her sister, Squirrelfur, was, well, a bit of a slut. She had 25,000 kits much like yourself and not a rat tail to feed a single one, let alone Christmas toys for each one. It was up to Stormtail to make sure each and every one of them had a very merry Christmas, and being their richest, funnest, and onliest aunt, she had to provide the presents.

"Sure, she might have been an aunt, but Stormtail was also lonely. She wanted a tom in her life. Someone with long fur whipped by the wind to take long walks on the beach with her; someone with a thoughtful, pensive face to stare into her eyes and take in her gorgeous features while quietly whispering poetry about her beauty; someone rugged, dashing and charming to slaughter poor, innocent bunny-rabbits with her. . . .

"Wolfblaze, take over, will you? My fur is starting to feel hot and I need some time; I'm starting to feel sort of faint," the leader's voice had taken on the dreamy tone of a she-cat swooning.

"Er, sure, Spidey. Ahem. . . ."

"So, dear little balls of fur, Stormtail clearly didn't want to end her life of luxury to amuse a mere five thousand litters of kittens. It turns out, actually, that she could kill two birds with one stone. _The Butcherette_, LawlClan's most well-received and highest-rated show, was looking for a new female contestant. They wanted to see someone rich and attractive fall all over some tom. Considering that LawlClan was short on attractive females that year, the show offered to pick up Stormtail. In the process, she would receive fifty million lawlers. Hence, she would be able to fulfill her dream of obtaining a mate to slaughter bunny-rabbits with, while at the same time fulfilling her 'obligation' to make every single one of those kits happy."

"Ooh, ooh, what happens then, Wolfblaze?" the tiniest kit squeaked, hopping in the air slightly out of both excitement for the continuing story and fear; after all, he was talking to . . . two cats inside of his father's body. I mean, seriously. What kit _wouldn't_freak out at this experience?

"Hush, little furball, and let me tell you. Talon never once picked up a copy of _LawlSA Today_, LawlClan's leading and only newspaper. It even contained demographics of the Clan stating that LawlClan is precisely 2.5% male. Perhaps, if she had read that, such knowledge would have served her well in the near future. . . . "

"After the announcement was made in _LawlSA Today_ that Stormtail was to be the new 'beautiful female; sexy, young and looking for fun'' on _The Butcherette_, every she-cat around (and we mean _every_ she-cat, because everyone _but_ Stormtail reads _LawlSA Today_) flooded the local mall. Within twenty-six seconds, the every single store's stock of monocles, fake mustaches, jockstraps and ties was clawed straight from the shelves—"

"Wolfblaaaaaaaaaaaze," came the whine of the she-cat voice. "I wanna talk."

The kittens cringed as the steady voice of the tom was replaced with the spastic, rather Boxxy-like voice of the she-cat. It was also sort of strange to them to hear their father talking in the high-pitched voice of the she-cat. Especially one that talked so quickly as this Spiderstar.

The reader, at this moment, might wonder what cats were doing at the mall in the first place. They are . . . cats, after all. But since this is a Christmas story, it's allowed a certain number of plot holes and the reader is advised to sulfur tritium fluorine uranium.

Oh. I think I should go back to talking about Spiderstar now. That would be good.

"Anyway. As Wolfblaze was saying, these ladies went crazy. Jock straps were put on. Backwards, but it's not as if Stormtail would know the difference. Females, especially the feline sort tend not to wear them. A Touch of Gray was combed into the roots of fur, giving the she-cats a more masculine, experienced appearance. And every she-cat in LawlClan doused herself in Calico Klein cologne.

"When it came time for the auditions, most LawlClan 'toms' were rejected. The casting crew had never met creepier cats! They picked out the least weird twelve cats and sent them off to Stormtail's manor.

"The party was in full-party-mode. Dim candle light, a live band, all the sushi a cat could ever want (and it was also alive which made it all the more _want_able) and three dozen bowls of spiked punch.

"No luxury was spared and everyone got wasted. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's backtrack.

"The only males to attend that party were Wildheart and Wolfblaze. Wolfblaze had agreed to be the host because there was guaranteed money in that and only a one out of twelve shot to make dirt in a litter box full of diamond dust.

"Wildheart was a contestant. He was the sort of tom that could not talk to an attractive she-cat without guzzling a half gallon of the aforementioned spiked punch. Of course, when he had drunk the half gallon of punch, no she-cat (attractive or not) would want to talk to him.

"He swaggered—well, staggered—up to the lady of the night about an hour after the party started. She was standing next to a window, gazing at the guests, looking altogether quite shy. The producers had advised her to look shy and skittish for at least a half an hour to make sure all the folks at home were fond of her down-to-earth aura.

"Now, there's something you need to know about Wildheart. He was sort of awkward with the lady-cats. He never had a mate, he never much talked to females at all, in fact. Except on the internet and there are no she-cats on the internet, anyway. He spent his days staring at pictures of she-cats and having smooth conversations with them in his head.

"So a cat like Wildheart would feel very suave when he staggered up to Stormtail, surveyed her figure, and fell to the floor, saying 'Please, baby, would you get naked for me?'

"Stormtail thought this was a joke. A flattering joke because of course he wanted to see her naked, but cats don't wear clothes, so she already was. She batted her eyes and tried to flirt around it, letting out high-pitched purrs. Of course when he persisted ('Oh, Stormtail I never saw a naked she-cat before, please let the first one I see be someone as gorgeous as you' and 'Stormtail, I've never wanted anything more than you to be naked'), she got a bad vibe for him. A half an hour later, she decided that this tom was rather creepy.

"She pranced to the center of the great room and gracefully dipped her paw into the porcelain bowl filled with deathberries. She ceremoniously laid one at his feet and said 'You were sort of sweet at first, but I think you move a little too fast for me. I don't think I'm the she-cat for you, but I know you can find her out there.'

"At this moment, Stormtail flashed a fake smile to the camera, trying to get the perfect amount of sadness in her eyes. The camera crew panned away from the cat who was devouring the deathberry she gave him and the band tried to play loud enough to drown out the sound of his sobs. Ten minutes later or so, a few guests were kind enough to push his twitching body into a closet."

The little balls of fur stood gaping at their possesed father. They weren't exactly sure what Spiderstar had said, as she had spat it out in mere matter of three minutes, and they were hoping that this pause meant that the one they could understand would start talking now.

They got their wish. In due time, however; Wolfblaze writes slowly—er, takes his sweet time formulating the right words to say to the little kits.

"Nobody really missed Wildheart after that. Of course, they couldn't show how they felt. After all, they were on national television. Next, a brindle tabby named Fawnflight spoke. ' (uh insert joke that Talon wouldn't understand here) ' she said. Since Stormtail was in her general vicinity and Stormtail _was_ the star of this show, she glared hatefully at Fawnflight when the camera was pointed elsewhere. Nobody would crack a joke that Stormtail didn't understand on _her_show."

"Stormtail reached her paw into the bowl of deathberries, dropping one at Fawnflight's paws this time. 'I know you mean well and everything, you just . . . aren't funny. And I don't think I can be with someone without a sense of humor. I'm sorry, but I'm sure your perfect she-cat is out there waiting for you.' She shot a passing glance at the camera and let a single tear form at the bottom of her eye. Once the camera was off her, she glared daggers at Fawnflight as she swallowed the deathberry."

Wolfblaze paid mind to Spiderstar's low whine in the background. She apparently nudged his flank within the confines of Firestar's body, because a low purr was heard from Wolfblaze before Spiderstar started speaking again, much to the discontent of the kits.

"So, my little pretties, as Wolfblaze was saying. . . ."

"Now, Blazestripe and Cloudwhisker were quite good 'friends'. In fact, they were such good 'friends' that they appeared on this show together looking for a partner in their home, as they were clearly 'friends' living together. I mean . . . they were each looking for their soul mate. Everything was going swimmingly for both of them, really. That is, until Cloudwhisker made a fatal flaw. You see, they had little pet names for each other: Hannahcat and Jess. Such a tiny error in communication could cost them greatly. . . .

"'Come on, Hannahcat—er, Blazestripe. Let's go get a drink!' It was rather unlucky of Cloudwhisker to slip up right near Stormtail. The green-eyed, gray she-cat threw a minor fit, hissing at the pair. 'You lied to me . . . both of you! How . . .' Apparently those were the only words that could escape her mouth at that moment. Instead of saying more, she reached for a pair of deathberries and dropped them in front of the two.

"She then flicked her tail towards Cloudwhisker. 'For not turning her in. I can't be with someone that holds such huge secrets from me and takes on a role in deceiving me.' Afterwards, she waved her tail towards Blazestripe. 'You . . . do I even need to say anything?' Without another word, the two ate their deathberry at the same moment and lied on the ground touching noses, planning on going the way of Romeopaw and Julietkit."

Wolfblaze's voice overtook Spiderstar's shortly after she finished that part of the story. The kits were unmoving at the time; as if they were too engulfed in the story to move.

"Stormtail kept her porcelain deathberry bowl close to her body after that in case there were any more . . . _accidents_. It was quite smart of her to do so, actually. Nearby, two ruffian- I mean, lightweights, were making some odd conversation.

"'You know I'll win Stormtail's money, you stupid moro-blergh!' Lightfeather was quite the lightweight indeed if only seventeen shots caused her to throw up.

"'No, you dumb mouse-brain-cat, I'll get her millions!' Maplewing wasn't much better, slurring insults together; but at least she didn't throw up after just seventeen shots."

The next part of the story got a tad jumbled for the kits, it seems, as both Spiderstar and Wolfblaze were saying different parts of it.

"So then, Stormtail, in all her rage, put a deathberry each in two shots of moonshine. She confronted both of them after they drank the shot, paying no mind to the deathberry in their drunken state.

"'I really liked both of you. Especially you, Lightfeather. But if all you two want is money, then you should go be jogalows. I hear they're making out pretty well now. I'm sorry, both of you. . . .' Stormtail then ran away 'crying' as Lightfeather and Maplewing continued to argue and bicker, clearly not comprehending any of what was just said to them. Did they even know they were to die? Apparently not. . . . "

"Anyways!" Spiderstar's voice overtook that of Wolfblaze, finally.

"Birdwing, sister of Fawnflight, walked up to Stormtail coolly and tried to turn 'his' charm on. This lasted for quite a while, really. That is, until Stormtail noticed a black wire and took note of some white noise in the background. She yanked at the wire, exposing a complex radio wave receiver and a small earpiece. Fawnflight's voice was still going.

"'Why are none of you honest at all? For StarClan's sake, all I want is a decent, non-deceptive, loving tom. Is that too much to ask for?' A deathberry was plopped into Birdwing's mouth. 'I don't even need to say anything!' exclaimed Stormtail. Actually, now that I think about it, Birdwing looked like a pig that was killed and whose mouth was stuffed with an apple."

"Nearby," Wolfblaze asserted, "Dawnheart crawled up to Stormtail. 'I'm honest and loving. Oh, hold on a second!' Dawnheart crawled up to a nearby table. The cats dining there looked like they were finishing up, so Dawnheart started licking her chops and began her usual process of begging for table scraps."

"Out of nowhere, Stormtail pulled a newspaper from her magic pocket and swatted Dawnheart with it. 'No! No! There's no damn way I'm marrying a bum!' She delicately placed a deathberry in the center of the scraps and pushed the plate to the floor so she could eat from it. 'And you seemed so . . . perfect,' she said. Only three cats remained now: Gingerpelt, Spottedbird and Littlenose."

**Authors note: This chapter is unfinished. Here is the rest of the outline for your reading pleasure.**

The show, of course, is hosted in her pimp mansion.  
Let's kick off Crane because she told Talon that she's under eighteen and Talon "ain't gonna get no jailbait".  
Luna and Talon have been suggestive to each other all night winking and such so Talon goes to touch her nose and Luna's mustache falls off.  
She ends up having to marry Prea who only dressed up like a tom because "everyone else was" and now has to spend the rest of her life pretending to be a tom.  
Then the alarm goes off because Spiderstar tripped it and they catch you the host and me the thief (let's pretend that was the plan all along) because we were in cahoots with each other - you unlocked the door for me and parked your van in a perfect spot for me to stash the money.  
We get arrested and go to jail.  
And we end the chapter with "Everyone was miserable, kits, that Christmas, except for Frosty's kits who were spoiled with presents upon presents. That's what Christmas is all about. Getting things."


End file.
